


Peepshow

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Sneakers and Saddle Shoes [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftercare, Betty has a really nice butt okay, Dom!Jughead, F/M, Jealous Jughead Jones, Jughead is really smart except he's also clueless, Light BDSM, Secret Relationship, Spanking, That's it, huh, reverse slow burn, sub!Betty, that's the whole story, which seems to be my thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:24:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: "Do not seek to tell your love, love that is not told can be..."Except Jughead can't help it, especially when Reggie threatens to make a move on Betty Cooper.





	Peepshow

The hall is filled with students. Some shout at each other, other zombies are intent on their phones, and a few kids scurry like mice intent on crumbs of cheese. Jughead walks his own maze through Bulldogs and Serpents and Vixens until he sees her, the one who stands out in all that mass of anonymous and shifting color.

Betty is bent over at her locker, perhaps searching for a red pencil or her spare chemistry notebook. As he approaches, Reggie slams into him from behind. “Get out of the way, Forsythe, can’t you see you’re blocking the view?”

That’s when Jughead realizes that Reggie means Betty. Of all the girls in all the Riverdale schools, Reggie has picked Betty to check out.

“Damn,” the idiot adds. “Junk in the trunk, but good to grab onto, know mean? A slow and comfy ride.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mantle.” Jughead doesn’t care if it means getting punched later. Reggie is _not_ going to size up Betty Cooper like a side of beef in his presence.

“What, did I look at the Vestal Virgin the wrong way?” Reggie sneers. “Think I might interfere with her 17th rewrite of next month’s homework? Because that girl is clueless when it comes to real life, let me tell you. I can teach her some things.”

#

Eidghteen hours earlier Jughead stood in Betty’s bedroom, watching as she licked and sucked him. He was fully clothed but unzipped, she wore nothing but thigh socks.

He could have pulled out and come all over her face. She would let him do what he wanted – sink inside her, hoist her up to ride his face.

In Betty’s room, Jughead picked her up like a precious jewel and carried her to the bed. There they lay down together and caressed with tongues and hands, letting sparks of pleasure speak the words he didn’t know how to articulate.

#

“I’m going to text her for a hook-up. Fuck it.” Reggie takes a step forward, but Betty turns around and measuring the scene with her usual cool intelligence.

“I thought I smelt testosterone,” she says. “The bell’s about to ring, so whatever this is can wait.” And with a flip of her pony-tail, she slips one arm through Veronica’s and walks away.

#

Only Jughead knows that Betty’s wearing a pair of panties he modified the night before with one slash from his knife. Only he knows that under her skirts there’s a little accommodating slit and, as she walks through the halls in her starched shirt and pressed pleats, the air climbs up her thighs to caress what he has laid bare. If he could get her alone, he’d be able to reach up, and through, and inside to where she is pink and wet. He could do it right here in school.

Their affair is still hidden, and isn’t that the source of what makes it all so unbearably exciting? He and Betty have spent months in codes and signals, seeking hurried kisses in the school’s darkroom, touching each other not with fingers but sidelong glances that are secret and incredibly sexy.

But now the thought occurs to him that he could mix the two rivers he’s been swimming in – Riverdale High, where he and Betty are passing friends, and the nights when they devour each other until their bones smolder.

#

During 7th period Jughead writes a few words on the back of a worksheet and slides it under Betty’s elbow. She reads and nods quickly. Then he just has to wait until Mr. Meeks finishes the class intro before escaping to the back lab, ostensibly to look for isotopes.

He’s half-heartedly rummaging through boxes marked Danger if Expired on a high shelf when a pair of slender arms twine around his waist. Instantly, all rational thought is gone. Jughead turns, cups Betty’s jaw, and sighs into a deep kiss. Christ, the taste of her tongue – always so delicious, so exciting.

All day long he’s ached for this.

They stumble against the shelves. “Careful,” Betty giggles. She glances down and asks, “Uh, what’s in your hand?”

“What?” Jughead looks down. He’s holding one of the Danger boxes. Belatedly he peers at the expiry date, marked 1998. “Holy cow, this thing could be radioactive!”

Betty tilts back her head and smiles up at him. “We’re in Riverdale High, not Bell Labs. It’s not like they keep isotopes in here.” ”

“But that’s what I told Mr. Meeks I’d be looking for…” Jughead’s voice dies out. He doesn’t give a shit about isotopes. “Betts, did you hear Reggie in the hallway this morning?”

The corners of her mouth tuck down thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it I did hear Mantle yap about something, but he always sounds like the adults in a Peanuts Halloween special to me. Why?”

“He said he was going to ask you out. No, his exact words were Hook up with her, meaning you.” As he talks, Jughead feels his palms grow clammy and butterflies erupt in his stomach. This is it, he realizes, the moment when he takes the next step. It doesn’t have to happen, he could just laugh it off and act as though everything’s fine, that he’s completely happy about their secret arrangement…

Impossible. Even as he thinks it, Jughead knows that asking Betty to be his – his something – is as vital as breathing.

Her gaze is very clear, very direct. “I’m not going to hook up with Reggie. In fact, I have no desire to hook up with anyone except you.”

The answer is very satisfactory. He could let the whole thing drop, but Jughead’s stubborn streak forces him to the next level. With a feeling of horror he hears himself ask, “Want to let him know about you and me?”

Betty’s eyebrows waver. “If we tell Reggie the whole school will know about us. Correction - make that the entire town, maybe the western half of the state.”

“Like I said,” Jughead insists. “Why don’t we tell him?”

Her hands slide off his hips, and she takes a step backwards. “You want everyone to know? What, to mark me like a wolf with his vixen?”

“Betty…”

But it’s too late. She’s opening the door, ready to return to class.

He could tell her to come back, close the door, open his pants, take him in her mouth. Order her to forget this conversation as she wraps those perfect lips around his prick, but Jughead realizes that he wants Betty to agree on her own terms.

Betty hesitates for a moment when hope surges in his chest. Then, with a final click, the lab door closes behind her.

#

Jughead has cut school several times: on the day of Presidential Testing in gym class, the week after his mom took off, one afternoon to set up the train trip for Betty.

He’s got a route figured out. It involves a broken window in the boys’ washroom, descent onto the sticky tar roof of the music rehearsal rooms, and one quick race behind the bleachers into freedom.

Usually he runs this gauntlet with freedom tickling his veins. There are stories to be written, movies to be watched, leftovers to be eaten.

Today his breath whistles in his lungs like lava. It’s a metallic scorch that makes him wonder if he’s going to lose his lunch, and he knows it’s stupid, so stupid what he’s doing, but the memory of that final click as the door closed behind Betty makes him screw his fists into his eyes.

Jughead has discovered it’s impossible to unsee something that has been seen.

#

Phone off.

Music on.

Book open.

Windows closed.

#

Wednesday night: leftover Chinese and Nightmare on Elm Street.

It would perfect, except suddenly Jughead can’t stand another second.

#

Thursday: faked phone call to the school, hours spent wrapped in blankets and staring at the ceiling.

#

Thursday night: Jughead picks up his phone.

His finger hovers over the switch before he throws it into a drawer and slumps, suddenly boneless, onto the couch.

#

One thing is clear. If he sits and thinks any longer he’ll go absolutely insane, but where the hell should he go?

The old Twilight?

Riverdale’s library?

Sweetwater?

Bottomlesss cup of coffee at Pops? _She_ might walk in and see him all alone in his usual booth like a loser, except Pops is Jughead’s spot so that shouldn’t matter, and he’s just about to grab his jacket and slam out of the door when a vivid mental image makes him stop, breath whistling painfully in his throat.

_Betty, blonde and blooming, on Reggie’s arm. He sits next to her in the booth and pulls the classic douche move of pretending to yawn so he can put one arm around her._

Jughead closes the door, closes his eyes, and leans against the scarred wall next to an old picture of some bathing beauty that took FP’s fancy. Below the pinned-up image is a series of pencil marks: Jellybean, May 13. Jughead, December 21.

He removes his old Sherpa and tumbles into a folding chair in the kitchenette. With nowhere else to go, Jughead retreats to the dream geography inside his skull and begins to rage-write the latest chapter of his novel.

#

Intent on his work, the pebbles don’t attract his attention until a large flint smacks the windowsill. Jughead leans over to push up the window. “Get lost, Pea,” he yells outside. “I’m not coming out tonight.”

“I knocked on the door.”

This one statement makes Jughead jump out of his chair. “Betty?”

“Can I come in? Could we talk for a little bit?”

He should tell her to get lost as well, but lately she's been his weakness. Before he can get his thoughts in order Jughead has opened the door, let her inside, and waved at the couch.

She gives him a little sidelong look, unwinds a gray scarf from around her throat, and perches on the edge of the corner cushion. Her short jacket is the same gray as her scarf, and it makes her eyes look brilliant. Betty’s hands are enclosed in green leather gloves, and she’s wearing some zippy boots with the fronts open so he can see her scarlet toe-polish. Everything about her is perfect except for a smudge of mascara under one eye as if she wiped away tears with one fist.

“I tried to call.” Betty’s voice is low and tentative. “Texted, too. Then I figured you didn’t want to hear from me, except I just had to see you. I had to, Juggie.”

He stands in front of her on the couch: legs spread wide, arms folded over his chest. “You already made it clear how you felt, so there was nothing left to say.”

“No.” She looks up, those huge eyes drowning him. “I didn’t make it clear. In fact, I was incredibly unclear, and I just had to let you know that – well, you surprised me, that’s all.”

“Surprised you with the fact that I like you?” Jughead spits. “Let’s look at the facts, Betty. I made that perfectly clear in your bed, in the school garden, at Sweetwater, and the front seat of your truck just to name a few places.”

“But that’s just it.” She spreads her gloved hands wide. “All of those places were ours, no one else’s. We’ve been so silent and under-the-radar, and I just got used to our little game. It’s been exciting to have such a wonderful secret, and when you mentioned going public I just reacted badly. But then I thought about how much I can’t stand Reggie’s come-ons, and I knew if a girl chased you I’d be furious with jealousy, and then I started thinking we could come up with a new game.”

He lets his arms drop and inches closer. “And you thought I’d just jump and run back to your side when you crooked your little finger?”

“Could you maybe take a look at my texts?” Betty begs.

Jughead sighs before reaching over her to rescue his phone from the drawer. When he turns it on, immediately a long line of texts scroll onto the screen, all from one number marked Sweet Thing. He reads through them as Betty waits, huge eyes hopeful on his face, and after a few minutes he grunts. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“Suppose everyone knew we were together? Suppose we kept doing what we’re doing but take things to the next level? Hide in plain sight, if you get me.”

Her face becomes vivid with eagerness and good lord, Jughead’s missed her even if it was just for a few days. “Are you doing this because you think you have to?” he blurts.

“No. I want to be with you, Juggie.”

“Why?”

“Because you pick out my clothes each night. Because you make me laugh when we’re lying in bed. Because you could have ordered me to be yours and you didn’t.”

His words are strangled. “I wanted it to be your choice.”

“Well, then,” Betty says. “I choose you.”

#

As soon as they step inside his bedroom Jughead’s on her, kissing her throat and hair and the back of her neck. “You made me think you didn’t want this,” her murmurs, not because he wants to guilt-trip her but he can use it to his advantage.

“I know,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

Another kiss, this one walking her backwards to the bed until she flops back and he can climb on top. “I accept your apology,” Jughead says loftily, “but you still have to pay.”

It earns him her widest smile, the one he only gets to see every few weeks and warms him to his toes. “I do?”

“Of course. You know what to do.” He sits on the side of the bed as Betty stands, bites her bottom lip, and pulls off those crazy boots and her jeans. Underneath she’s wearing another pair of pink underwear. “Turn around,” Jughead rasps. He’s about to die, but what a way to go.

Betty twirls, and he feels in his back pocket for his knife. Three quick cuts, and the back of her panties falls away.

Sheathing his knife with a snick, Jughead leans back and tilts up his chin. “Take him out,” he orders. “Not on your knees, I have plans for you.”

Betty bends over him, undoes his belt, and pulls down the zipper. A few tugs and he’s free, already stiff in the chilled air of the trailer. “Is that for me?” she asks.

He shakes his head. The past days have been hell, and Jughead’s determined to come back in a blaze of glory. “Not yet. Over my lap, and make sure you squeeze me just right. You know how.”

“Ohh.” Betty lies face down, her thighs cradling his aching erection. She’s broken and dark, first aloof and now so soft and compliant, and there’s no one else Jughead wants.

His hand cracks the globes of her ass eliciting a tiny squeak from the blond bent over his knees. “Tell me what you did,” he whispers. “Tell me, sweet thing, and I’ll give you one more.”

“Reggie tried to ask me out,” Betty says. “And – oh, Jug – I didn’t make it clear that I’m yours.”

Biting his lip, Jughead thrust up between her legs so the head of his prick emerges between her legs purpled with desire. “Another squeeze,” he whispers. “That’s it, just the way I want it, you’re so amazing, it’s like you read my mind sometimes. I just think about what I want and you’re already doing it. How could you ever let another man look at you and think he has the right to ask you out?”

“I will…” Her words break off and he brings his palm down again on the firm flesh, which quivers around his dick like a warm vise. She’s panting, and he can feel her skin warming up and, oh yes, grow wet.

Jughead bends over, brushes a strand of golden hair off her face, and whispers in her ear. “What will you do? Give me promises.”

“Everyone will know we’re fucking,” she gabbles. “When Reggie sees me in the hall, it’ll be clear as crystal.”

“Crystal,” he repeats, bringing down his palm in another slap. It makes her flesh jiggle around his length, and he getting so close, close enough to make lightning zig-zag under his skin, and she wriggles on his lap and whispers that she’s his, she belongs to him, and that’s what does it for him in the end, he’s spilling and shooting all over her, his willing and mysterious girl.

#

Sex with Betty is amazing, but Jughead thinks aftercare is even better. He gets to spoon her against his chest and soothe the red welts he’s left, kiss every inch and tell her how amazing she is as she stretches and purrs in his arms. “Good thing FP didn’t walk in,” she sighs. “When we have our own place we can get even crazier.”

He gets up on one elbow and smoothes a curl off her face. “Do you think about that?”

“Having our own place? Of course.” She smothers a yawn and snuggles closer to him, closing her eyes. “We can take a long bath and have drinks and eat pancakes in bed on the weekends.”

A cold and hard fist inside Jughead’s chest squeezes and lets go. “What I meant to ask was - do you really think about being with me?” he asks against her neck.

“Yup.” There’s another yawn, and Betty closes her eyes.

“Are you my girlfriend?” he whispers. “Can I take you on dates?” With a tiny giggle Betty says a date would be lovely. Jughead grins until he remembers he’s got seven bucks in his pocket, but what the hell. They can ride bikes or split a soda at Pops – it just doesn’t matter.

In fact, now that she’s given herself to him, maybe it’s not imperative any longer to get in Reggie’s face or worry about anyone other than his own blonde cheerleader and her stellar ass.

 

#

Bent over his locker, Jughead digs out the books he needs for Friday morning class: Euro history I, The Great Gatsby, a notebook filled with incomprehensible algebra. As he straightens with a groan and hoists his messenger bag over one shoulder, a small pair of hands spins him and grabs both collar points.

“Reggie’ll be here in sixteen seconds,” Betty says before pulling Jughead in for a long kiss. Dimly he hears a few students whistle, followed by comments like _Did you see_ and  _Is that really_ and  _Can you believe_.

“You don’t have to,” Jughead mumbles, still pressed against her mouth. “You know, do what I said. Got you. That’s enough.”

“I want to – oh, here he is.” Betty kisses him again, and he can’t resist bending her back like some celluloid hero in an old-time drive-in. A second later he hears heavy footsteps which stop behind them, and Jughead looks up from the kiss to see Reggie with hands on hips and jaw open.

“The fuck? Is this some kind of play rehearsal and no one told me?”

“Reggie. Allow me to explain. This is a kiss, and Jughead is my Boy Friend.” Betty enunciates each word as though she wants to make the situation completely clear to anyone listening.

“Oh.” Mantle runs one hand through his admittedly magnificent hair. “I get it. My mistake. Nice going, Jones.” He fake-slugs Jughead’s shoulder and saunters down the hall, ogling every female on the way like a handsome idiot in some dank meme.

Stardust is spinning inside Jughead’s mind, and he buries his face in Betty’s hair. “I really like you,” he says, except that’s wrong. “No, I got that wrong, that's not what I meant to say. Betty, I, uh, I kinda sorta ... you ... argh.”

He’s about to collapse under the weight of his own impossible words, but Betty makes it okay as she always does. “Relax before you hurt yourself,” she laughs. “Guess what, Juggie? I kinda sorta you too.”


End file.
